A KILLING TIME: Part 1 of 3
by Dubricus
Summary: Derek & Nick face a battle with the elements in Part 1 of the Time Chronicles.


*Title: A Killing Time: Part I of the "Time Chrionicles" 

*Author/pseudonym: Dubricus & Susan Lay 

*Email address: dubricus@hotmail.com; sldl22638@blueyonder.co.uk 

*Website: **Merlynn's Maze**

*Rating: R; violence, death, language 

*Angst Rating: high 

*Focus: Derek & Nick in early 1999, prior to the beginning of S4. 

*Status: Complete; first posted Nov. 1999. 

*Episode spoilers: none

*Summary: A private trip to do a favor for a friend results in a life and death struggle against the elements and even time itself, with ramifications that continue for years to come. 

*Special warnings: This story, Part 1 of the "Time Chronicles", is a continuation of life of **Derek Emrys Rayne**. Successive stories in the "Time Chronicles" are: **_Death Watch, Interlude_** & **_Fortune's Wheel._**

We never intended for our "saga" to become as complex as it has. It just sort of grew. I intend to post here, at the FanFiction.net, what I can. However, several of our stories grew to be so large that it is not practical. Some, including **_A Killing Time_**, also have photos that accompany the text. 

Therefore, I would strongly urge a visit to **Merlynn's Maze,** where you will also find a "Who's Who" & a "What's What" section, entitled **_Faith Hath Need of the Whole Truth_**, along with photos taken by the authors of the real Angel Island, San Francisco environs, & Hatley Castle. 

*Disclaimer: This story is an original work of amateur fiction, and is written purely for the private entertainment of P:TL fans. This story is no way affiliated with the Trilogy Entertainment Group, MGM Worldwide Television or The Sci-Fi Channel. No monetary gain is intended. 

* * *

**A KILLING TIME: _Part I_ **

Part 1 of the "Time Chronicles" 

by Susan Lay & Dubricus 

Prologue 

_Legacy Journal of Evan Rayne _

Feb. 13th, 1850 - Sutter's Mill, California Republic 

It has been a long, exhausting ride over here from Sausalito, but it had to be done - even in this weather. My rump is getting far too old for this sort of abuse. Sarah gave me a fine gaited mare and a Mexican saddle that is as deep and soft as a rocking chair, but my bones are getting old and tired, and La Luna is little suited to mountain terrain. I worry about a misstep and a broken leg. She's too fine an animal to use this way. Perhaps, I shall board her here and hire a nag of surefooted, mustang stock. Thank God for my bear skin coat. I shall truly have need of it when I get deeper into the hills. I pray I don't get mistaken for some old grizzly who has awakened early from hibernation. 

I keep begging London House for younger, competent help - to no avail. It has been difficult since William passed - trying to build a business to support the House and pursue Legacy matters as well. Despite, the necessity of obtaining a firm hold on the island, they seem to regard California as a rural backwater with the influx of humanity seeking gold as a transient phenomenon. I foresee that many will stay and that this is the birth of an immense society. 

Now, it seems as if all mankind is flooding into San Francisco. Odd - it has been 2 years since Yerba Buena with its paltry population of 800 became San Francisco, yet, for the life of me, I cannot get used to the name. Since the discovery of gold over 100,000 souls have poured through the Golden Gate. (I think that Mr. Fremont might have a touch of the "Sight" himself - he selected the name Golden Gate for the entrance to our harbor 4 years ago, in 1846, two full years before the discovery of gold.) Speaking of our harbor - it looks like a forest of dead, denuded trees - the masts of ships lying derelict, abandoned by crews gone to seek their fortunes in the gold fields. 

Poor Mr. Sutter has seen his lands overrun, his herds slaughtered, his property ransacked and stolen. So it is with everyone who was already here. The native Californios suffer most. These "Argonauts" and "Forty-niners" swarm like ants over the Sierra foothills and mountains. Little did they heed the warnings about preparing for a cold, hungry winter. All they care about is the gold. They cut every tree in sight for firewood and mining timber. They turn the gulches and flats into cesspools. All were certain that come the first winter storm they would have made their fortune and been long gone - and, even at this season, still more arrive. 

London fears that this "gold fever" will make the area a prime target for the Darkside. So here I am. Yet I fear my own employees have already fallen victim, if not to the Darkside, then at least to one of the Deadly Sins - avarice. 

Rayne & Sloan took payment for orders of tools and staples in good faith, but I have heard rumor that some of my teamsters are taking it upon themselves to sell these same shipments, which do not belong to them, to the highest bidder. Then they too vanish into the hills. I must put a stop to this and set things aright. I do not know for whom I fear the most - for those who have sucumbed, or those whom I know will not. I have heard from neither in weeks. From here on the business operates only as "cash and carry" - no more orders taken to be delivered later. 

This storm, like its predecessors, has been a hard, cold one. I know the snow will again be heavy at even the lowest elevations. I fear for those ill prepared. I pray that all those who purchased from me have at least received some sort of delivery - enough to get them through until I can arrange to make good on the bargains. I only hope the rogues' treacheries do not sink the business, and drag my plans for Isla de los Angeles down with it. With statehood, it will become available for purchase. We must have Angel Island safe and sound. 

As soon as the weather eases a bit, I head into the camps to try to ascertain how bad the situation is in regards to both Darkside incursions and the deliveries. I must try to find my own people. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 1 **

_Angel Island..._

Alex Moreau sat in the darkened control room of the San Francisco Legacy House. Banks of video screens on the far wall illuminated the room. Security monitors displayed the exterior of the House, now shrouded in darkness. Her own computer screen threw a ghostly light across her face. 

The steady background hum of the hardware and the busy clicking of Alex's fingers as they flew across her keyboard were the only sounds to be heard. 

She paused for a moment to reflect... here she was, again, working late, alone. She glanced at her watch... 10:00 p.m. 

"Get a life woman!" she muttered angrily to herself. But she continued her research work. She didn't want to leave this room. Kristin was off at a seminar in Athens. Rachel was at home with Kat. Nick was out doing "security things" and Derek... she sighed... not back yet. Alex increasingly found the house somewhat austere without its human inhabitants - particularly without Derek. She felt it was he who gave the place its heart and its soul. 

She heard the quiet hum of the hologram as Nick entered the room. Pleased to have human company, she acknowledged his presence with a warm smile. 

"Burning the 'nearly' midnight oil! Still no word?" he asked quietly as he rested his hands on the back of her chair. He waited for confirmation of the arrival time of the British Airways flight from London to San Francisco, and specifically of one of its passengers, Derek Rayne. 

Alex worked quickly. The interface with the airport's computer system appeared on the screen. "Nothing confirmed yet," she informed him. "They left Heathrow three hours late in poor weather conditions... ETA's 12:30 tonight." 

"Still a couple of hours before I have to pick him up. I'll bet Derek will be one happy camper," Nick said with a grin. "Why'd he travel commercial?" 

"There were engine problems with the Gulfstream and he didn't want to wait around for them to fix it. He's still determined to give that lecture at Gold Country Community College tomorrow. He promised Chris Mears weeks ago he'd do it. But that was before they called this a last minute conference in London," Alex explained. 

"They don't often call precepts away like that. I hope its not trouble," she said absently, then returned to her original subject. "I tried to persuade Derek to let me postpone the lecture. He bit my head off." Alex imitated a certain stiff-necked precept. "Once one has made a commitment then one should endeavor to honor it. I will disappoint neither Chris Mears nor his students. I shall get there come hell or high water." 

Nick smiled. Alex did a pretty good Dutch accent. He could imagine their precept's reaction to the suggestion that he take the easy way out. "What's this lecture about anyway?" 

"The ethnic diversity of Egypt's Ptolemaic period," Alex informed him. 

Nick grinned. "Well that'll pack 'em in." He wandered over to the coffee-pot. "Coffee?" he enquired. 

She smiled and waved her cup at him. "I'm on my eighth of the night, so better not." A worried expression crossed her face. She felt something was wrong... that something dreadful was about to happen. But what? 

"Nick, I really don't like the idea of him driving himself over there. I doubt he'll rest on the flight, and he'll have to make an early start tomorrow to miss the traffic." 

"Yeah, I know," he agreed. "Road conditions can be bad in the foothills... there's bound to be lots of slush at the higher elevations and we're supposed to get the edge of a cold front late tomorrow night. Besides, I don't like the idea of Derek out in the sticks by himself. He's like a magnet for 'ghoulies and ghosties' and every crazed demon in the neighborhood. Maybe I should drive him. Who knows, maybe I could park him with Dr. Mears and go fishing for a few hours. Lots of good creeks around there... a little rain won't bother me or the fish... and I can't see what trouble he could get into during a lecture. Besides, it's a good cover... what Derek doesn't know won't hurt him." 

"Do you think he'll go along with that?" Alex asked hopefully. "I'd sure feel better." She really didn't want Derek to tackle this journey alone. Was it her "sight" that was causing her these nagging concerns, or another more feminine instinct? 

"I'll start working on him when I pick him up. A little sleep deprivation, some wheedling by us... and he'll probably agree... just so he can hit the sack. What's wrong?" Nick questioned. "Have you 'seen' something?" 

"Nothing really... an uneasy feeling... that's all. I'll be happier once he's back in the house." 

"You look all in. Why don't you get some rest?" Nick asked with quiet concern. 

"No, I'll wait till he gets home," Alex replied as she stretched her arms out, popped her fingers, and rotated her neck. Then she turned back to her computer to continue with her work. 

Nick decided he had been dismissed and went to look for something to eat. It was going to be a long night. 

* * * 

**_Later..._**

Alex had finally quit the control room and headed toward the kitchen for a late night snack. "Working late is definitely not good for my waistline," she muttered. "Where are they?" She glanced at her watch. It had been a couple of hours since Nick had left to pick Derek up, and still no sign of them... and no call. 

She was saved from any further concern when she saw headlights sweep through the sitting room windows to play across the walls. The light broke into multicolored shards as it passed through the stained glass. She heard a car engine give a final rev and shut down. 

"Never again," Derek grumbled as he and Nick entered the front door. "How anyone can be expected to travel with their knees jammed under their chin for twelve hours. Not to mention two hours waiting on the runway before that.... And with a woman next to me who had no concept of silence. Because the flight attendant called me Dr. Rayne, I was regaled with medical horror stories about that woman's gall bladder. Good Gott! And the food... Nick has served better!" 

Puzzled, Alex looked at Nick, who grinned as he dropped Derek's bag in the foyer. "They only had a 'tourist' seat... no luxury class!" he explained. 

"You look exhausted," Alex said quietly, feeling waves of weariness emanating from the older man. She raised her eyebrows enquiringly at Nick. 

"Derek's agreed to let me drive him tomorrow," he confirmed, aware of Alex's unspoken question. "I still don't understand why we can't take the chopper." 

"Nick... it's a small town community college... I'm going as Dr. Derek Rayne, visiting professor, not descending from the heavens as Derek Rayne, Chairman of the Luna Foundation. Besides, we might scare the chickens." 

"Yeah... OK," Nick agreed. He knew that Derek didn't like to flaunt his wealth and respected that. 

"Let's just drive. I can study my notes and catch some sleep on the way." Derek's tone indicated the discussion was at an end. 

"The meeting in London must have been about finances!" Nick whispered in a stage aside to Alex. 

"Try and get some rest now," Alex told the precept as she smiled at a memory. "You don't want to fall asleep at the lectern. Jet lag can be very disorienting. You've been half way round the world and back in the last four days." 

"At present, my mind isn't sure what day it is, let alone what time," Derek said. "I need to collect some artifacts from the vaults for tomorrow... the mummified head, the painted papyrus, the statuette, discovered with 'Ethel'. Also slides and photographs of the painted ceiling of the tomb of Seti I," Derek continued. "I'll see you in the morning, Nick... 5:00 a.m.... bright and early!" 

Nick looked puzzled. "Ethel?" he asked Alex. 

She smiled. "You know... the mummy's head... with the red hair.... We'd wanted to call her Lucy. But the Leakeys beat us to it with the find in Olduvai Gorge. What else could we call her but Ethel?" 

"Oh yeah, that makes lots of sense!" Nick shook his head ruefully. "Guess it's one of those anthropologist type 'jokes'." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 2 **

_San Francisco Legacy House..._

Derek turned his head to look at the LCD clock... 2:40 and he had still not slept. Now debating the wisdom in trying, he sat up in his bed. Should he take a pill? "No, too late now," he told himself as he switched on the bedside lamp. 

He picked up his notes for tomorrow's... no today's... lecture and began to read. He had looked forward to his mini-vacation... a chance to get away from the island, to take a relaxing drive alone, and to slip back into teaching... to be himself... if only for the day. So much for that idea. Now, he worried that he was not fully prepared. He tried to concentrate on what he was going to say to the students. If London hadn't convened that ridiculous conference at short notice, he would have been able to devote more care and attention to his presentation. He didn't want to keep referring to the damned notes... bad form. That would give the students the impression he didn't care. That he was "going through the motions"... or worse yet... that he didn't know what he was talking about... that money had bought his doctorates. 

Would the slide projector at the college work? Should he take a "spare" just in case? It had been ages since he had given a formal lecture. How would he cope with the questions? What if they wanted specific details that he didn't have with him? He hated to admit it, even to himself... but he was nervous. He chuckled at himself. Good God!... nervous over a lecture to a bunch of kids in a lower division anthropology class at a tiny junior college out in the middle of nowhere. 

"Get a grip, Rayne," he admonished himself. He laid his notes aside, again turned out the light, and laid back down. At last, he drifted into a deep sleep. 

* * * 

Nick had eaten his breakfast and was relaxing over his third cup of coffee. He glanced at the clock... 4:45 and no sign of Derek. Alex joined him. Tiredly rubbing her eyes, she reached eagerly for the coffee-pot. 

"What you doing up?" Nick asked with a grin. "Worried I'd run off and forget him?" 

"No... just wanted to see you safely on your way." She tousled his hair and grinned as he grimaced and patted it straight. "Where is he?" she asked, looking round the kitchen. "Not working surely." 

"Don't know," Nick replied. "Ain't seen him yet... could still be in bed!" 

"I'll check his office and the control room," Alex said, padding out of the room in a sleepy walk. 

"Fine. I'll see if I can catch him snoring," Nick responded. He left the kitchen and headed for Derek's bedroom... just to make sure his "passenger" was OK. "Well one of us was bright and early!" he muttered. 

* * * 

"Derek!" Nick called quietly as he knocked on the bedroom door. "Derek... you awake?" 

Derek heard Nick's voice and gradually dragged his mind back from sleep. "What is it?" he muttered, confused and tired. 

Nick opened the door to see a rumpled looking precept in a rumpled looking bed. "It's nearly five. We need to get going if we're going to miss the traffic." 

Puzzled, Derek momentarily stared at Nick. "Oh God... the lecture." What the hell? Where had his mind gone! "Nick... I'm sorry... I'll be down in a few minutes." 

Quietly cursing himself for oversleeping, he pushed himself from his bed and headed for the bathroom. Damn that spur of the moment call from London... and for nothing... to double check balance sheets from three years ago... and damn Chris Mears for asking him to give the lecture in the first place... and... damn Nick for catching him, snoring away, still in his bed. 

Derek dressed quickly in the navy, three-piece suit that had been carefully laid out for him. He smiled at the efficiency of his staff. The shirt and tie were perfect... casual enough not to look like a banker. Dominick was worth his weight in gold. 

He reached for his watch. "What? One o'clock? Verdamme! Still on London time!" Derek picked up the gold pocket watch he had inherited from his father. 

"Goot," he muttered. "5:05 right on time." Again, he blessed Dominick. He smiled fondly as he held the solid casing. For a moment his mind felt the generations of Raynes who had previously owned... no, he corrected himself... had custody of this timepiece. 

He slipped the watch into his right vest pocket and properly looped the chain through the buttonhole and across to the other pocket. Then, he looked in the mirror. He was content that he had the right "look" for his lecture... suitably dignified, but not too tweedishly academic. Quickly he tossed his shaving kit and few other items into an overnight bag, then snatched up his briefcase, and hurried downstairs. 

"I put your box of goodies in the car... 'Ethel' will have a comfortable ride," Nick informed him as he reached the foyer. "You want some breakfast?" 

"No time," Derek replied snappishly as he grabbed his leather jacket and scarf from the coat rack. "Let's go! If we make good time, we can stop somewhere on the way." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 3**

"So that's why you wanted to drive?" said Derek with a raise of the eyebrow. Planning on abandoning me to the heathens while you go hunt some poor fish?" 

"Yep, boss... a clear stream, fresh air, and a fishing pole are far more appealing to me than dozing through ethnic diversity in Ptolemaic Egypt," Nick replied as he placed their bags and his gear in the rear. He smiled to himself... he'd learned a few tricks from the master. Never let Derek know that you were concerned or protecting him. Let him think you had your own ulterior motives, which were the ulterior motives concealing the real ulterior motives. 

"You know... San Francisco has many fine purveyors of fresh fish," Derek said in his most pompous tone. He tossed his leather jacket and briefcase in the backseat of the Explorer, then carefully hung his suit jacket on a hanger. "There's really no need to catch them oneself," he added, settling into the front passenger seat. Letting out a weary sigh, he adjusted the seat to allow his long legs the maximum space. 

"Ahh... but you miss the thrill of making the catch. Knowing just where to make your cast, beating a wild thing in its natural environment, at its own game," Nick replied jokingly. 

"Personally, I've never felt the need to pit my wits against a fish," the precept responded. "One finds other quarry far more appealing." 

Nick decided not to pursue that one. "OK?" he enquired, anxious to get on the road... the delay had not been his fault, but he was pretty damn sure he'd catch the flak. "Gonna be a hellava day, Nicky-boy," he told himself. "Always is when Derek turns into an Oxford don and starts using 'one'. Wonder why it always happens when he gets those last minute, 'your attendance is requested' calls from London?" 

Fastening his seat belt, Derek replied curtly, "Yes, let's get going. We're late already." 

Nick took a deep, calming breath, then started the engine and drove as quickly as he dared towards the ferry. 

* * * 

**_On the road..._**

Traffic across the arcing, double-tiered Richmond Bridge crept at a snail's pace. By the time the Explorer reached the steel trestled apex, the first hint of dawn brightened the east. Nick turned on the radio to hear that a truck, skidding on slick pavement, had jack-knifed at the bridge's east end. "Shit!" he said in frustration. 

Derek gazed absently from his window; his eyes never failed to seek the beacon atop Angel Island's peak. Off to his right, he could barely distinguish the black outline of the of the island's slopes against San Francisco's ever-glowing presence far beyond. He turned in his seat to glance back at the floodlights of San Quentin Prison shining eerily through the mists. He shivered at the waves of tragedy, hatred, and hopelessness that seemed to emanate from the fortress. 

He shook himself, then turned back to survey the strata of low, oppressive clouds... their indigo depths now glowed red with the light of an orange sun. "Red sky at morning, sailors' warning!" he commented. 

"The weatherman doesn't necessarily agree with that," Nick replied tersely. "Last night they were calling for snow flurries up north. The storm's supposed to hit up around Portland and Seattle, but we're only supposed to get a little rain late tonight... just the front's southern edge. 

"Oh! Come on, guy! Learn to drive!" Nick shouted angrily as a car cut in front. "Damn!" He hated driving in heavy traffic. The open road with his foot flat to the metal was Nick's style of driving. 

Derek glanced in his security officer's direction. His eyebrow rose... eloquently saying nothing, and yet, saying everything. 

* * * 

Nick simmered as he battled traffic through the industrial flat lands of the East Bay. Even he, in all of his non-psychic glory, could feel the precept's suppressed aggravation... it fed his own. 

To Nick's relief, Derek finally dozed while crossing the wind-blown farmlands on the way to the state capitol. When he wakened, it was to the sound of slapping windshield wipers. Groggy and irritable, he asked, "Where are we?" 

"ust east of Sacramento," Nick replied. "Do you want to stop in Placerville for breakfast?" 

Derek peered at the LCD clock on the dash... it was almost ten. His mood did not improve. "No... let's just keep going," he snapped as Nick heard his stomach growl. 

"Fine by me," Nick retorted. "Are you on a diet or just into starvation mode?" 

* * * 

As time slowly passed, Nick's anger at Derek swelled. At the moment, he wasn't sure what was annoying him more... Derek drumming his fingers on the arm rest... or Derek when he glanced obviously at his pocket watch, turned his hazel eyes full on Nick's face and sighed loudly. 

Hell! It wasn't his fault that the snow had decided to fall, or that a bridge washout on Highway Forty-nine was totally disrupting the only route south... or that Derek had chosen to go hungry, rather than take a few minutes to stop. 

They had been stationary for nearly an hour while the Highway Patrol led cars around the trouble spot in small groups. Large, heavy snowflakes had begun to fall from the leaden sky. Nick had gotten wet and cold putting chains on the tires. Now, he stared out the windshield as the wipers struggled to keep a clear spot. Damn! He thought. The south edge of this front wasn't supposed to hit until late tonight... it was only supposed to be a little rain. Maybe he should have paid more attention to Derek's rhyme. 

On the up side, Nick admitted to himself, this delay was giving him a further opportunity to continue with his own private study... the subject: Derek Rayne. The former SEAL constantly tried to discover what made this man tick and, despite the mood, was getting a real kick out of watching someone who risked his life and soul battling nameless horrors getting nervous at the thought of giving a lecture to a bunch of college kids! 

"It's already half-past one. The lecture's at three. Did you bother to check with Caltrans about road conditions?" Derek asked as an orange repair truck with a green and blue "CT" rolled by. "I don't see how we'll make it now!" 

"Me? You're the one who wanted to drive... alone, I might add," the younger man replied as he opened the door. "Give me the squeegie," he said angrily. "Under the seat." 

The precept glared at his friend. "Here," he said curtly, slapping the implement into Nick's hand. 

Derek's own questing hands had found various other items, which he preferred not to see. "Please speak to Rogers.... Ensure that he cleans the interiors of these vehicles thoroughly... particularly when you have been on a stake out," he added. "When were you on stake out? Have I missed something?" 

"Wasn't," Nick grinned sheepishly. "Francis and I went down to Big Sur over the weekend... sorry... borrowed the Explorer." 

"Well... there are such things as rest areas with roadside trash cans," Derek countered. 

"Yeah, boss," Nick replied. Sliding from the car, he stepped into a deep puddle of slush. "Dammit!" he cursed as he shook his wet shoes. He scrubbed angrily at the window to clear the build up of snow. He could feel Derek's eyebrow rising. 

"Yeah... well... best laid plans," Nick continued as he kicked his shoes against the doorsill, then slipped back behind the wheel. "And it's not my fault we're late or the weather's screwed up." 

After a few more minutes, the drumming fingers and ant-trail of traffic finally got to the younger man. "Enough of this shit!" he snapped. He reversed the car and turned round. Ignoring the blaring horns, he drove back a half-mile, past the stationery traffic that had been stacked up behind them, and turned onto a rough, side road. 

"Nick, what are you doing? This is not the right road," Derek said testily. His mood was in a downhill slide and it was all his own damned fault. 

"It's OK," Nick growled. "This is a short-cut. Trust me," he added as he remembered the last time he had been on this road... when he and his father were out on one of their "training sessions". He wondered if some of his own annoyance could be traced to his unhappy memories of this place. 

Nick ignored his precept's skeptical look and the skidding of the rear tires on the layer of snow as they added their protest at his choice of route. Finally, the chains bit and they bounced forward. 

Derek examined a map of the area. After studying it for a good five minutes he turned to Nick, "Where are you going? This road leads up into the mountains.... There's nothing there but rocks and trees and no way back down." 

"'ll get you there. OK? The map doesn't show a cutoff. It climbs up and over the ridge to pick up Forty-nine a few miles farther south." Nick hated his driving and navigation skills to be questioned by anyone... and Derek's doubts, especially, were the red flag that baited his bull. 

"None the less, I'll call Chris and warn him that we'll be late," Derek said icily as he pressed the "power" button on his cellphone. "Verdomme!" he muttered. "My battery's flat from the London trip." 

Nick reached into the door pocket and silently handed Derek his phone. "Use this." 

Derek nodded and punched up Chris Mears' number. Nothing but static! "This is not working either!" Derek snipped. "Surely you can keep the equipment functioning... that shouldn't be too much to ask!" 

"What's wrong with it?" Nick asked, puzzled. The phone had worked fine last time he had used it, and he had made sure his batteries were fully charged. 

"I can only get static," Derek complained as he made a second attempt to connect the call. "Damn. Terrain shouldn't affect a satellite link like this. It could be the weather conditions, I suppose," he conceded grudgingly as he shook his head in despair. His hoped for pleasant and relaxing break was turning into a nightmare. "What else can go wrong?" he groaned. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 4 **

_Sierra Foothills..._

Now huddled in his leather jacket, Derek stared from the passenger window. He wiped a clear space on the misted glass with his handkerchief. They had been travelling up this rough, canyon road for nearly an hour. With each yard covered the weather had deteriorated. The wind was now howling like a banshee... he could feel the car shaken by its force. Visibility was near zero. 

He glanced over at Nick's tense face and knew his friend was worried. He could feel his anxiety... this was not good. 

Peering ahead, Nick leaned forward over the wheel. "I can't see a thing," he confessed. "It's almost a white-out. I just hope we don't wind up down in the creek." 

"Can we turn around?" Derek asked. Stupid question, he thought... mountain on one side, a ten foot drop on the other. 

Nick cast an angry glance in the precept's direction. "Where? I haven't seen a traffic circle, have you?" He instantly regretted his harsh tone... this wasn't Derek's fault. 

The car continued to struggle on... up an invisible road, in an invisible world. The engine whined and the wheels spun and slid, despite the chains. Finally, the incline and the depth of snow snared them and they shuddered to a halt. 

"Face up, Boyle," Nick mumbled under his breath. "This one is down on you. We should have reached the fork by now." Always his father had kept the creek bed to his left until the fork. Then the right one had climbed up and over the ridge and the left one had continued to an old mining camp further up the creek. What if he had missed the fork in the storm? 

"We're stuck?" Derek asked quietly. No reproach was intended, but it was there all the same. 

"Yeah. Sure are." Nick looked out at the bleak landscape. He couldn't tell where the sky ended and the earth began. They were going nowhere... and it was getting cold... very cold. "So much for believing weather reports," he said. 

"Let me see the map," Nick asked. He shook his head as he studied their options. The storm could last for days and no one knew they had come this way. Turning to the older man, he explained, "We have two choices... stay with the car, which is the standard rule, but we could get trapped in here... snow could totally cover the car... or we try to hike out. 

"There's an old mining camp somewhere up Tagualames Creek... Dad said it used to be called 'Ghost Gulch.' We have to be close. It was Dad's 'enemy camp' during our 'bonding' sessions! Some of his supplies could still be there... if the shack is still there... and if hunters or panners haven't found them. It's closer than going back. We can take shelter there until the weather clears. What's your vote?" 

"We hike it," Derek replied after a moment's consideration. "You're sure there's shelter there, and it's close?" 

"Positive... I hope... can't be more than a mile or so," Nick declared as he pushed open the car door, which groaned, squeaked, and finally moved reluctantly under the weight of built-up snow. 

The former SEAL fought his way to the tailgate and dragged out his emergency pack, a light-weight sleeping bag that lived with the emergency pack, his fishing gear, and the bags, all which he shoved into the backseat. 

Wind-driven snow stung his cheeks. Heavy flakes settled on his eyelashes. He rubbed his face and peered around. They had to make the camp by nightfall... no other option. 

Already freezing, he hurriedly climbed back into the car and pulled the door closed against the blowing snow. Leaning over the seat, Nick unzipped the bags. He tossed Derek the sweater from his overnight bag and slipped on an extra sweatshirt that he had brought. 

He looked down at Derek's black, leather loafers. This was not good. "Can you fit into my waders?" he asked. 

"What about you?" 

"I've got my hiking boots on... they'll do," the younger man replied. 

Derek examined the waders. "Not a hope," he declared. "The crotch would be at my knees... besides your boots won't keep your legs dry. I'll manage." 

Nick reached down to feel under the dash. A puzzled expression crossed his face. "Where's the GPS?" 

"I disconnected it," Derek replied with chagrin. 

"What! Dammit, Derek! It's the Ruling Council's new policy... all Legacy vehicles are to be equipped with global positioning. You made enough fuss about me installing it in the other cars!" 

"Well, this is my car," Derek replied snappily, "not the Legacy's. I have no desire for Big Brother to keep tabs on my movements... whether I go out to see Ingrid or go visit the Mustang Ranch... it's none of their business. When they pick up the bill for the car, then they can have what they want fitted!" 

Nick shook his head angrily. "Well, round about now we sure as hell could have used a Big Brother!" 

In tense silence he turned his attention to the survival pack. It included a shovel, a few MRE's, a survival blanket, and a first aid kit. He pushed his seat back and began to struggle into the waders... not an easy thing to do behind a steering wheel. 

He looked over at his precept, "Wrap your scarf round your head Arab style," he instructed tersely. "Cover your ears and your nose... as much of your face as you can." Nick proceeded to do the same so that only his eyes could be seen. 

"You got gloves?" he asked. 

"Yes, in my coat pocket." Derek produced a pair of fine kid gloves. 

Nick couldn't help but smile. "Always with style, Derek. Always with style! I wish they were lined." 

"I was expecting a lecture hall, not a mountain climbing expedition," Derek retorted, but he too smiled. "Remind me to fully equip the Explorer with my own survival kit... for the next time you drive," he added with a chuckle. 

The younger man pulled a pair of one-size-fits-all work gloves from the pack. "See if you can get these on too," he said as he pulled his own heavy gloves from his jacket pocket. 

Twisting round again, he removed the plastic bags that enveloped the box of artifacts. 

"Nick!" Derek cried in horror. "What are you doing? The damp will cause irreparable damage! Those items are over two thousand years old! They're very precious!" 

"Frostbite isn't pleasant, Derek... your fingers and toes turn black and fall off. Without some protection your feet will get cold and wet. They're 'precious' too!" Nick handed Derek the two plastic bags. "Put these over your shoes, as high up your legs as they'll go." He watched his precept comply, studied the effect and smiled. "Not exactly 'designer,' but they'll help." 

"When was I ever 'designer'? Heritage does not breed gaucheness," Derek said with dry sarcasm. "Nor do I believe in being someone's walking billboard. If they want that, they should pay me for it... not I them." 

Nick handed over two bungie cords. "Wrap these round the tops... keep the snow out." Nick heard Derek chuckle again. "What?" he asked. 

"A memory...," the older man replied, "Your father once bundled me up like this under exactly the opposite circumstances." 

"And?" Nick questioned. "Don't leave me hanging." 

"We crashed a chopper in the Sahara," Derek explained. "He saved my ass that time.... like father, like son in all the best ways," he added with a smile. "Are you sure about this?" he asked again, dropping a subject with too many bad memories. He could barely see a few yards ahead. The thick layer of snow obscured any landmarks and the wind was whipping up drifts. The temperature was plummeting. 

Nick nodded. "No options.... I'll take the pack and break trail... you take the sleeping bag... don't let it get wet... and follow in my footsteps. OK?" 

"Let's go," Derek replied. 

* * * 

**_ San Francisco Legacy House..._**

Alex was sitting in the Library, reading a draft of the report she had been working on for Derek. It was yet more paperwork for London House. They wanted summaries of the case histories each House had covered during the last quarter. Hell... a case history was a summary... so they were wanting a summary of a summary. Once again she was the only Legacy member in the house and had been stuck doing everyone else's office work. Although she knew it was her job as chief researcher, she still resented it. Not for the first time, she felt taken advantage of... but... she was the one who had insisted that Nick drive Derek, so she couldn't exactly begrudge him... and it was stupid of Rachel to come over in such lousy weather... but that didn't help her mood. 

The phone's ring abruptly penetrated the silence. Alex jumped, then irritably tossed the report on the table and picked up the receiver. "Alex Moreau," she said sharply. 

"Alex... hello... it's Chris Mears." The voice of Derek's friend matched her own in annoyance. "Alex... Derek hasn't arrived. Did he have to cancel again and forget to call?" 

Alex was suddenly all ears. She glanced quickly at her watch... it was 3:45 p.m. "Chris... Derek and Nick left here very early this morning. They should have been there by now. Have you tried Derek's cell phone?" 

"Yes, but there's no service. I couldn't get through." Chris' tone had now changed to one of concern. "I hope they're OK. The weather over here has turned pretty nasty. It's been snowing for hours. Did they have chains? No one expected a storm like this so late in the season. How were they coming? Down Forty-nine or over from Stockton?" 

"It's pouring here, too.... Chris. I'm not sure how they were going... probably Forty-nine. I'm going to try Nick's phone. I'll get back to you and let you know what's happening," Alex said quickly, anxious to get this man off the phone and trace her guys. 

"OK... they're probably holed up in some truck stop or motel... and knowing Derek... Nick isn't enjoying himself at all," Chris tried to reassure her. "I'll wait for your call. Bye!" 

Alex quickly pushed the buttons. "Come on, Nick." It was ringing. "Pick up!" She let it ring for more than a minute. "Nothing. What's happening guys? Are you in some roadside cafe? Why haven't you called?" 

She tried Derek's number, just in case... no service. "Probably didn't recharge the battery after his trip," she reasoned aloud. "But Nick's phone should be working!" She dialled again, still no answer. Her intuition had warned her about this trip, why hadn't she listened? She should have tried harder to stop Derek from going. 

"Where are you both? OK... Alex think! What to do? How to find them? If they're in some bar, I'll kill them!" 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 5 **

_Tagualames Canyon..._

Nick tried to ignore the spiteful wind tearing at his clothes, burning any exposed skin. It snatched up stinging snow and drove it at them. He shouldered his pack, then turned to Derek. "OK, let's go." 

His first steps into the snow were difficult. He struggled to keep his balance. "It's deep... try and keep to my footsteps." 

Derek nodded and shortened his stride to match Nick's. 

Glancing back, Nick worried that the precept's clothing was completely inadequate for what lay ahead of them. He remembered that Derek had not eaten breakfast... his last meal must have been whatever he'd had on the plane... if he had eaten on the plane at all. 

As they trudged forward, each step was met by hostile gusts that pushed them back. Within moments, the wind's remorseless howl had deadened their hearing and had begun to gnaw into their brains. 

Nick was determined to set a fast pace. The way the temperature was dropping they didn't have time for anything else. They had to reach the camp by nightfall. He set his priorities... shelter first, warmth, then food. No game in this weather, but he'd find something... he had to. 

* * * 

Two hours later the exhausted pair reached a stand of low pines whose branches were weighed down with snow. The boughs offered some shelter against the battering wind. 

"Let's take a break," Nick suggested. 

Derek crouched down to rest his back against the solid presence of a ponderosa pine. He tried to ignore the scalding cold that gripped his feet, penetrated his clothing. His trousers were wet and offered no warmth or protection. Cold seeped into his muscles, into his bones, encompassed his whole being. Not one bit of him was warm. Even his heart pumped icy blood. 

He shivered and hugged himself to try to contain his body's warmth. He needed to rest... to get his energy levels up. "Focus," Derek told himself as the icy air burned his throat and set his teeth aching. He took shallow breaths to lessen the searing pain in his lungs. 

For a few moments, as he collected himself, the precept stared distractedly at the patterns of snow swirling in the wind. Tiny, white cyclones whirled along, snatched up the flakes and danced with them. 

How long till dark? He pushed his hand inside his coat and pulled out his pocket watch, then stared at it in puzzlement. Had it stopped? He shook it gently, then tried to absorb what his eyes were telling him. The watch appeared to be running backwards. He pushed it back into his vest pocket... somehow it must have been damaged... the cold, perhaps, or the damp. 

"How far have we come?" he asked quietly as Nick hunkered down beside him. 

Nick noted the spent tone to Derek's voice. "You OK?" he asked in concern. He received a weary nod in response. Nick held tightly to the map as he showed it to the precept. "I think we're here." He pointed. "We've gotta go down that canyon to the right and up the incline. Not too far." 

As Nick tucked the map into his pack, he pulled out an energy bar. "Eat this," he said, handing it over. "You need something inside you." 

"Thanks." Derek tore open the wrapper and bit hungrily. "You?" he asked, offering the bar. 

Nick shook his head. "Don't forget... I got up in time for breakfast this morning," he teased gently. 

Derek nodded and continued his dry unappetising meal. "Have we got any water?" He'd had enough survival training to know that snow would slake his thirst, but it would also dangerously lower his internal temperature. 

Nick opened the pack and pulled out a bottle along with a chocolate bar. "More to eat first," he suggested. He broke the bar in two... handed Derek his portion and then bit into his own half. 

Derek ate his chocolate and took a long drink from the bottle. He handed it back to Nick, who drank himself, then refilled the bottle with snow. "It won't take long to melt in the pack," he commented as he tucked it away. 

"Did you hear that?" Derek asked sharply. He tilted his head and strained his senses trying to locate what he had just heard. 

"Hear what?" Nick asked puzzled. He glanced around. He couldn't see anything beyond the skeletal trees and dark pines... everything else was smothered in snow. 

"I thought I heard something... voices," Derek replied hesitantly, now unsure if he had actually heard anything. 

"What were they saying? Were they calling for help?" All Nick could hear was the constant screaming of the wind. God, he thought, what if there's some poor soul lost out there... alone. 

"Noooo... I think it was more rhythmic, like chanting... or singing." Aware of how ridiculous a notion that was, Derek shook his head. "Who in their right mind would be singing in these conditions?" Or who in their right mind would be hearing them, he asked himself. 

Nick looked anxiously at Derek. Christ was he hearing things, voices? The cold was obviously affecting him. They needed to find shelter... fast. "You can't hear them now, can you?" he asked, trying, for Derek's sake, to keep the fear from his voice. "It's not your 'Sight', is it?" 

Derek tiredly shook his head. "Nothing!" He sighed deeply. "It didn't feel like the 'Sight'." 

"Let's get out of here... OK? Ready to go?" asked Nick, pushing himself to his feet. He offered Derek his hand. 

The precept grabbed hold and was hauled up. He took several deep breaths to prepare himself, tucked his scarf about his face, then nodded yes. 

Visibility had deteriorated. As they left their temporary shelter, the marauding wind buffeted them and howled its malice. The younger man stepped out into the snow. Keeping his teetering balance was difficult. With each step his feet sank into the depths and had to be dragged out. 

As they made their way into the gulch the drifts became deeper. Derek concentrated on the imprinted footsteps, each one after the next. He plodded wearily on. Ignoring the cold, he closed in on himself... he might be wet, his body might shiver, his teeth might chatter, but his mind would not. "Follow the footsteps," he commanded himself. Suddenly, he glanced up and realised with horror that he could no longer clearly see his friend. He peered at the dark, indistinct shapes ahead. Trees... where was he? How long had they been walking? Minutes? Hours? In panic, he realised that he didn't know. 

"Nick! Wait a second!" he called out, but the wind stole his words. "Nick!" he cried again. He paused to brace his hand against a cedar tree. He felt the tree bend with the pressure of the wind, flex with it rather than fight it. 

He was so cold, so tired. He wanted to rest, to stop fighting the elements. He looked at the snow spread out like a welcoming blanket of white wool. He could snuggle down, sleep, and let the soft covering fall over him. 

The precept shook his head, closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate. His brain wasn't thinking clearly... he knew that. Angry with himself, he spoke aloud. "Come on, Rayne... focus. Dammit! Keep going! The snow has smothered the life from the land. Exactly what it would do to you. Don't let that part of your mind win. You've done it before... you can do it this time." Turning to look for Nick's steps, he realised with alarm that the wind and snow had nearly obliterated them. 

"Derek!" He heard, then saw the younger man scrambling towards him. "Are you OK? I thought either I'd lost you or you'd pulled a 'Captain Oates' on me! Christ, you scared me!" 

Surprised that Nick knew of the captain's needless self-sacrifice during the disastrous race to the South Pole in 1912, Derek managed a wan smile. Odd how the brain could remember something like that even as it was beginning a downward slide into... into what? he wondered. 

"What?" said Nick, pulling his scarf away from his face. His breath spewed white fog as he spoke. "You ought to remember how I used to devour all those exploration books in the library... when Dad would let me." 

The precept nodded. "And kept a few as I recall.... I'm sorry, I needed to catch my breath," he heaved. "Surely we must have travelled more that a couple of miles by now?" 

"I know," the ex-SEAL admitted ruefully. "It's further than I remembered. The cold knocked my compass out of whack, but I've got my bearings now.... I'm certain." Nick slipped the pack from his shoulder and pulled out a rope, which he knotted around his waist. "Arms up," he instructed as he fastened the other end around Derek. "I should've done this before." He muttered almost to himself, "I think the cold's getting to my brain." 

"You're not the only one," Derek murmured. 

Nick snapped two long, straight branches from the tree. "Walking stick," he said, placing one in Derek's hand. "Help to keep your balance.... Check the depth of snow." He shouldered the pack, once more ready to move out. "OK?" 

"Lead on, MacDuff." Derek tried to sound cheerful, but it fooled neither of them. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 6 **

_Tagualames Gap..._

Once they had begun to climb the cold seemed to intensify, making each step an endurance test. Both men concentrated on the next step... one step at a time they gradually crept up the mountainside. 

Pausing to get his breath, Nick glanced back at his precept, who struggled to catch up. "Damn!" he murmured to himself. "He's totally exhausted. You better find this camp fast, Boyle! Please, God... let it still be there." He turned back to study their route, they were close to the camp now... they'd picked up the creek again. He could see the steel grey ribbon of water glazed over with a sheen of thin ice. Ahead a small cataract had suspended its fall in white iciness. 

"OK... we need to make our way through this narrow gap between the creek bed and the mountainside... then we're were safe" he reassured himself. 

As he waited for Derek to join him, Nick eyed a precarious overhang of snow that shadowed their route. "Derek, we're nearly there," he whispered, "but we need to go through that gap. The way that snow's piled up there... anything could set it off. We could trigger an avalanche... so real quiet, slow, and careful. OK?" 

Derek glanced up, but his brain scarcely registered what his eyes saw. "Yyyes... OK," he gasped. As he drew in a shuddering breath, his body trembled violently with the cold. His hands were now numb; he could no longer feel his feet. His whole world was cold and ice. 

Nick looked at him in alarm and cursed himself for not having checked on Derek's condition. "Why didn't you say you were so cold. Where's your stick?" 

"Nnnothing you could do about it... just kkkkeep going.... Lost ssstick... couldn't hhhhold it," Derek stammered. 

"Can you make it alone?" 

"Nnnot sssure," Derek stuttered his reply. His mind no longer seemed to have control over his body or itself. It was tired of trying. 

Nick pulled Derek's arm over his shoulder and took some of his weight. He felt the older man's lean body shivering and noted the slow, shallow breathing. He knew they were fast running out of time. 

"Lean on me. It's not far now. We're nearly there. We'll soon be safe... and warm.... I promise." Christ! Nick thought in panic... I'm not going to lose him... not now. 

Derek nodded, but said nothing. His mind turned inward to the center as it had so often done before... only the center existed. It had sustained him before, it would again. "Let's go," he whispered. 

* * * 

The two men made slow, careful progress through the narrow gap. Derek was glad of Nick's strength and support. He had learned long ago not to be ashamed of needing help, but to accept it with grace, dignity, and a sincere thank you. He struggled to keep his mind on the task in hand. Keep walking. Get to the shelter. 

"Gggod... it wwill bbe ggood to bbe warm," he said, but Nick showed no reaction... probably he hadn't heard. The damned wind howled like a demented soul in hell. 

Nick stopped suddenly; Derek nearly fell as he tried to halt his own momentum. "Sorry," Nick said. "We're here." He pointed to a small, square stone building off to the left. "Thank God... it's still standing." 

Derek peered ahead through the swirling snow. He could make out a solid looking structure, with other ruins flanking it... all blanketed in heavy snow. 

Suddenly a sickening dizziness swept through his body. Derek's stomach lurched. The scene before him changed... writhing flames danced in the night... golden crimson whirled into a velvety blackness. He heard chanting... louder... saw men dancing... heard drums beating... louder... and louder yet. They challenged the chanting. A wolf leapt throught the flames. It ran crazily... then more wolves... in pursuit. Scarlet froth dripped from savage mouths. Scarlet stained the snow. Everywhere there was color... bright, dazzling, and distorted. The throb of the drums absorbed his heartbeat, throbbed against the inside of his chest and skull... beat at his temples and behind his eyes. When the drum's cadance changed, his heartbeat kept pace with its alien master. 

"No!" Derek screamed. Clamping his hands over his ears, he staggered away from Nick. What was happening? This was not how his "Sight" worked. 

Nick struggled through the snow to grab the precept's arm. He spun him about to look into his friend's stricken face. "Derek what is it? What's wrong? Did you 'see' something?" 

Blind and deaf to Nick's presence, the older man fought. "Derek! What is it?" The former SEAL grappled to retain his hold. Nearing panic, he shouted, "Derek! Can you hear me?" 

Suddenly, the precept's struggles ceased. He sagged in exhaustion. Awareness returned. "I'm fine, Nick... really." Derek's voice was a hoarse whisper. "I... thought... I'm... nnot sure... wwhat...." He hesitated, then said, "Llet's ggo... pplease." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 7 **

_Ghost Gulch..._

Nick shouldered open the door to the rough, stone building that he knew had once been a jail. It groaned as it scrapped against the floor. The stench of decaying wood assailed his nostrils, reminding him how old the structure was. 

"Thank God!" he muttered as he entered the room. He shone his flashlight about, then stepped cautiously for fear of rotten planking. It seemed to be sound and reasonably dry... the roof looked OK. The maintenance work his father had put in years before was now paying dividends. It was smaller than he remembered... maybe twelve by twelve. A small, barred window let in a faint light. An old pot-bellied stove stood in rusting glory in the far corner. At the moment, it looked heaven sent. 

Derek stumbled in behind him and leaned wearily against the far wall. Utterly spent, he savored the relief from the wind's incessant howl and from the sharp sting of driven snow. His mind revelled in the quiet. Why, he wondered, were souls condemned to burn in the everlasting fires of Hell when ordeal by cold was worthy of Satan at his most foul? 

"Take off your wet clothes, then get inside the sleeping bag," Nick ordered as he carefully maneuvered the fragile door shut, then hurried to examine the rusty stove. Scanning the room, he tried to recall precisely where his father's cache of supplies had been concealed. Rarely did Nick Boyle bless his father's military mind, but at that moment, he did. He could almost hear the Major barking, "Always leave emergency stores behind.... You might need them." 

Finally, he spotted the knothole. "I found it," he told Derek. The former SEAL stepped to the hole, stooped down, and inserted a finger. The planking lifted with ease. There, below, covered by a dusty tarpaulin, were neatly bound bundles of firewood, bark kindling, old newspapers, cooking pans, and a wooden crate of canned goods. Nick hauled most of it up, then used the canvas tarp to plug the small window. 

Derek pulled his double pair of gloves off with his teeth, but struggled to make his numb fingers obey his will. He couldn't manage his coat's buttons. He shuddered in exhaustion, brought his hands to his face, and blew heavily, trying to breathe life and warmth into his cold flesh. 

Nick saw Derek's difficulty. "Need a hand?" he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he helped his precept remove his coat, then the remainder of his wet clothing. He wrapped the flimsy survival blanket around the shivering man, then spread the sleeping bag on the floor for him. "Into the bag," he ordered. 

"I'll get a fire going to dry our clothes... warm this room up... make a hot drink... get some food." He spoke calmly, trying to disguise his worry about the older man's frail condition. He quickly removed his own waders... glad to escape from their confinement. His jeans were wet with sweat; he struggled to peel off the clinging denim. 

Nick then turned to rummage through the crate and his own pack. There was coffee... beef cubes... a few of his energy bars... some chocolate... some freeze dried packets of beef stroganoff and spaghetti and meatballs. "Not exactly cordon bleu," he said quietly. 

He found what he was looking for... a small can of pine pitch that his father had once made him collect. He quickly opened the stove door and grimaced at the angry squeal from its hinges. Nick placed paper and wood in its belly, then scooped out some resin and dropped it amongst the kindling and papers. Nervously, he held a match against the tinder. It caught. 

"Hope the chimney isn't blocked.... No," he exhaled in relief, "it's drawing.... Derek... soon have a hot drink for you," he called. He cracked open the front door, filled a pan with snow, and placed it on the stove. Finally, he arranged their wet clothing around the old potbelly, then scrambled over to join his precept. 

"Let me see your feet... make sure they're OK." There was no response. "Derek!" he called anxiously. "Come on, Derek... stay with me. No sleeping! Feet... please!" He roughly shook his friend. 

Derek fought to quell the tremors that continued to wrack his body. He drew in a sharp breath. God!... All he wanted to do was sleep, but his mind sought Nick's voice. 

"Come on, Rayne, concentrate," he muttered as he propped himself up on his elbows and slipped his feet out the side of the unzipped sleeping bag. He watched Nick wince as the ex-SEAL placed the icy feet against his own bare stomach then cover them with his sweatshirt. 

Derek managed a weak smile. "Ggood.... tttthanks," he stuttered. "Fffish for sssupper?" Why was it becoming so difficult to talk... to think? Focus! 

"Not yet, but you wait," Nick replied as he hugged the cold feet beneath his sweatshirt. "I'll catch a few beauties before this trip is finished." He had to keep the older man talking. The shivering gradually decreased... thank God! 

Another small shudder wracked Derek's body, then Nick felt him suddenly tense. The precept laid back and closed his eyes. "So tired, Nick," he mumbled weakly. "Hurts... cramp." 

Nick watched him with concern. "Derek, the water's boiling. Do you want coffee or bouillon? Then I'll do us some good old spaghetti and meatballs... lots of carbs.... Derek! Come on, don't do this to me!" Nick pushed Derek's legs back into the sleeping bag. "Derek! Please!" 

Nick slid his hand under the cover to feel what should have been the warmest parts of Derek's body. "Christ, you're freezing!" 

Falling back on his SEAL training, he frantically muttered his way through the stages of hypothermia and their treatment. "Intense shivering, lack of concentration, exhaustion, drowsiness.... OK... been there, done that... stage one.... I've done the right things... shelter... warmth... but nothing hot in him yet." He worried aloud. "What's the next stage? Dammit, Boyle! Think!... Decreased shivering... muscular rigidity... equals cramps.... can't speak. Christ, Derek! Why didn't I realise it was this bad?" 

Nick climbed into the sleeping bag... maybe his own body's warmth would bring Derek back. He pulled the sleeping bag tightly around them both and wrapped his arms round the unconscious form. "Come on, Derek. I don't usually do this on a first date. You could at least stay awake." 

* * * 

"Derek," Nick called desperately after nearly a half an hour of trying to force his own heat into his friend. The room was now reasonably warm and snug. He himself was beginning to sweat. Still, he could not rouse his precept. If anything, he felt colder than before. His breathing had grown shallow. Nick's fingers sought his carotid pulse.... It was weak. "Dammit! Have I done something wrong?... Why aren't you recovering? Wake up, Derek!" His mind reluctantly returned to the final stages of hypothermia. "Increasingly slow heart beat and breathing, then coma, then cardiac arrest death! 

"NO! Derek, don't you die on me! Come on. Please, Derek, don't give up!" Nick rested his head on the older man's chest to listen to his heart. It was so slow. He held his breath waiting for the next beat. Should he try cardiac massage? No, not yet... he'd hold tight... be an anchor for Derek. Somehow, the precept would know he was there and come back. 

"Why the hell is this happening?" Nick's mind returned to his medic training. "You shouldn't have slipped through stage two so fast." He kept talking, hoping Derek would latch onto his voice and fight his way back. "You went from shivering right through a cramp or two straight into this. Hell... how fast did your temperature drop? Why? It's not supposed to work that way." 

"Come on, Derek... tell you what... let's make a deal... when we get outta here, I'll be a good boy and sit through your lecture on ethnic diversity. No heckling either," he promised. 

"Then as your side of the bargain... you come fishing with me. We'll see how that Rayne intellect matches up against a grandpa catfish. You know some of those bastards live forty years, grow to three feet long. Nasty customers with those whiskers, but they taste great. Gotta go east for 'em though. How about a vacation in redneck land?" 

Nick knew he was rambling, but he kept talking to give Derek a direction, something to follow. Right now the only thing he could do was let Derek know he was there for him and would stay with him... no matter what happened. 

"Alex will kill me if I let anything happen to you. I'll let you in on a secret... the fishing was a cover. She's been a nervous wreck ever since you left for London. You wouldn't want my murder on your conscience, would you? Derek, come on." Nick stared intently into the face below him, desperate to see those eyebrows arch skywards as he demanded to know why 'one's' Security Officer was in 'one's' bed. Nothing! No movement that would indicate a return to consciousness. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 8 **

_Later..._

Nick was unsure how long they had lain together in that tight cocoon. The warm radiance from the stove bathed the room in a soft light. It reflected back in a crimson glow from his hand gun and from Derek's pocket watch, which lay atop the drying clothing. Nick reached for the watch. "What the hell!" he exclaimed, staring in amazement as the hands of the watch raced backwards, spinning faster and faster. 

He glanced round the room in bewilderment. He could see figures, pale and translucent. It was as if he had entered an old, black-and-white newsreel. They were ignoring him and Derek... engaged in some mysterious business of their own. 

"My God!" he cried in alarm as he recognised the figures! It was his own father and himself, as a young boy. Nick Boyle... a fourteen-year-old ghost of Nick Boyle. "Am I dead?" he wondered aloud. Had he and Derek both died? He looked down at the older man, still unconscious, but breathing... his heart was still beating... now and again. 

He faintly heard his father's angry voice, but could not understand the garbled words. He remembered the incident. "Son-of-a-bitch, Nick! You're a friggin' moron! I swear your mother must have fucked the goddamned dog to get knocked up with you," his father had said. All he had done was misread a coyote's track for a bobcat's. 

The figures disappeared, but still the watch hands spun round... backwards! The movement was mesmerising. Nick noticed changes appearing in the room. First, the door vanished and roof seemed to collapse, then repair itself. Then the door, a different door was back. The cracks in the stone work healed themselves. The dust of ages seemed to be lessening by the second. "Shit! What's happening! I feel like I've entered the 'Outer Limits'!" 

More figures came and went, as did objects. At one point the entire room seemed to be stacked floor to ceiling with crates, barrels, and sacks of flour. Tools, wheel barrows, machinery, and what looked like harness appeared and disappeared... as did the occasional person. 

Nick stared at the watch seeing minutes, hours, days spiral backwards. "If it's causing this affect in the room," he reasoned aloud, "is it affecting Derek too? Is the watch why he in slid into a coma so fast? But why not me? But maybe it is... I'm seeing things. 

"Should I smash it?" he asked himself, then shook his head in bewilderment. "What should I do, Derek? It's your watch... you're the expert." 

It was all happening quickly... like a tape in rewind. That was it... it WAS rewind. Every now and again the images move backwards... the roof had collapsed upward. People walked backward. He couldn't understand the soft murmurs because they were talking backwards... not like in pig Latin, but really backwards. 

Nick turned his attention back to the precept, he checked again for his pulse, then laid his head on his chest.... Nothing. He held his breath and waited.... Still nothing. No heart beat. He had stopped breathing. 

"Oh, God! No!" Nick was not going to lose this fight. His SEAL training took over. He knelt beside the still figure. "OK... mouth to mouth.... He tipped Derek's head back... opened the airway... held his nose and blew into the mouth. Once... twice... he then placed the heels of his hands at Derek's breast bone and began cardiac massage. One push, two, three, four, five. Back to the mouth.... 

Nick kept up this methodically frantic activity for a minute. He stopped, checked for a pulse, any sign of independent breathing. "Please, God help me, help him," he muttered. 

He began his battle with death again. "First the lungs then the heart." He clung desperately to his liturgy for life. One, two, three, four, five.... pause again... check again. 

"Yes... oh, yes!" There was a pulse, not strong, but it was there. He watched Derek's chest hesitantly rise and fall. Nick weakly slumped to the floor beside his friend and nearly wept with relief. 

Staring intently at Derek, he concentrated all his focus on him. He willed his lungs to keep drawing in air, his heart to keep beating, while Nick's own seemed to have stopped. After five minutes he began to relax. Damn, if he hadn't done it. 

"God, I could do with a drink," Nick signed. "Coffee'll have to do." He twisted round to pull the sleeping bag back over Derek. 

"What! Blankets!" Derek was wrapped in woollen blankets and an old patchwork quilt. Nick rose, then glanced round the room in total confusion. "Everything's different... but the same." His gun was no longer a .38 semi-automatic. In shock, Nick reached down to pick it up. He turned it over in his hands. "A single-shot, percussion pistol... an Aston horse pistol," he said in awe. He had once seen one in the museum at Gettysburg. His Swiss Army knife had changed to a long-bladed dagger. He touched the clothing... his clothes, Derek's... all changed. Now all were natural fabrics... bone buttons, no zippers. 

The canned goods were still there, but the labels were different. Nick's mouth opened... he gasped like a fish out of water. In shock, he looked down at himself. Gone was his T-shirt and briefs... replaced by a red, flannel union suit. He looked at his hand. His SEAL ring was gone, too! 

"Derek," he called again. "Please... you've gotta see this." Then he noticed that two things had remained the same. Derek's ring was still on his finger and the watch was right where he had placed it on the drying cloths. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

**Chapter 9**

Nick tried to rouse the precept... to no avail. There was nothing he could do but wait. He drank his coffee, then slipped back under the blankets. Wrapping his arms around his friend, he lay with his head on Derek's chest. He counted each heartbeat... he intended to monitor his precept's condition, second by second. Whatever it was, this shit with the watch and the clothes would have to wait until he had Derek back on an even keel. "Set your priorities, Boyle!" he murmured. 

Listening to the slow, hypnotic rhythm of his friend's heart, Nick lost track of time and was nearly lulled into a deep sleep. "Come on, Boyle. Up and at 'em! No snoozing," he said aloud. 

"Nick?" murmured a familiarly accented voice. "What's happened? Where are we?" 

A huge grin broke across Nick's face as he pushed himself up to look down at the perplexed expression on the older man's face. "Derek!" His relief was palpable. "Are you OK? How do you feel?" As he spoke he released his hold on his friend and quickly extricated himself from the blankets. Some things you had to do, but you sure as hell didn't want to get found out doing them. 

"Like an icicle," Derek replied. "Still so cold." 

Nick felt the two jackets... both were warm and dry. He snatched them up to tuck them around the precept. "Stay awake!" he said as Derek began to drift off again. 

"I'll get you a drink... some food." Nick hurried over to the stove. He had Derek back and wasn't going to let him go again. "Come on, Derek, talk to me!" 

Derek fought the drowsiness and the shivers. He glanced around the small room, dimly lit by the glow from the iron stove. Nick's long, black, shadow stretched across each of the walls. The precept sorted through the pieces of his recent memories... they were a scattered jigsaw puzzle. "The snow storm... we were on our way to Gold Country College.... I was going to give a lecture." He spoke slowly and looked for confirmation. "Gott... I feel like my brain has short-circuited." Derek's trembling hand crept from beneath the covers to rub his forehead, to massage his throbbing temples. 

"Right... we were going to meet your friend, Chris," Nick agreed as he poured broth into two, not very clean, tin cups. He shrugged... a little extra protein, no problem. Nick wasn't as cavalier with Derek's health as he was with his own. He had opened the cans of broth as soon as they'd arrived boiled the liquid then kept it simmering. "Should kill any nasties," he had reasoned. He smiled to himself... at least the broth had stayed broth and hadn't turned into peaches or something. 

After a pause, Derek continued, "We had to hike in here... I must have passed out... from the cold? I didn't know cold could hurt so badly.... You were keeping me warm just now, sharing your body's warmth?" 

Nick grinned. He was sure he could see two pink flushes appear on Derek's cheeks... maybe it was just the firelight. He handed one of the cups to Derek. "You haven't heard the best of it." 

Clutching the covers, the precept pushed himself up as Nick settled down on the floor beside him and sipped his broth. "Not too bad, it must have aged nicely," he muttered. 

Derek grimaced, when he realised how old his supper was likely to be. Probably in that crate at least fifteen years, he thought. His mind considered the possible ramifications salmonella... botulism. He steadied his hand... the warm cup felt heavenly against his skin... and drank with less relish than Nick... but he did drink. 

The heat of it going down was ecstasy. He sat silently with his eyes closed... centering himself in the warmth. Beguiled by the sensations, his concentration drifted and sleep again called. 

Fearing another downward slide, Nick secretly watched his precept. He spoke hastily, "Derek, tell me about that watch." 

"The watch?" Derek dragged his mind back and was puzzled by the question. "What do you mean, Nick?" He glanced automatically at his empty wrist and frowned as he struggled to remember the events of... was it only yesterday? 

Suddenly he noticed white, cotton knit at his wrist. He touched the fabric on his arm, then looked down at himself, as his friend had done. "Nick, where did you find long underwear?" he asked in confusion. 

"I told you that you hadn't heard the best, but tell me about this first... your gold pocket watch." Nick reluctantly picked the timepiece up by its thick, gold chain and handed it to the older man. 

Reaching over, Derek took the watch and held it loving for a few seconds. Memories returned... the London conference... oversleeping... this watch. He pressed the stem to pop open the casing... it was still running smoothly. "Nearly four in the morning... I think the students will have gone home by now." 

Nick glanced at the watch's face and was intrigued... it was now running normally. "What the hell? You wake up... the watch is working... something really weird's happening." 

"The watch has been in our family for over a century and a half." Derek gazed at the inscriptions, front and back. "In 1849, Sarah Rayne gave it to her husband, Evan, who had founded the San Francisco House in the 1820s. It had belonged to her father, Rev. John Winston, Precept of the Boston House... his wife's wedding gift to him. Derek read, "To my beloved John on our wedding day... Elizabeth Sloan Winston. Her uncle, the first William Sloan was the co-founder of the San Francisco House." He chuckled at the thought. "I hope that William Sloan was of a more agreeable disposition." 

"There's never been any supernatural rumours about it?" Nick asked as his gaze fell back on the watch. 

"No, nothing like that. As far as I am aware... it's just a watch," Derek replied, mystified by this line of questioning. Somehow he knew he wasn't going to like what Nick was about to say. "You'd better tell me what this is all about," he said quietly. 

Nick nodded. "Another hot drink first," he instructed. He rose and returned with two hot cups of coffee. 

Derek wrapped his long fingers around the cup, luxuriating in the warmth that insinuated into his hands. "You were going to tell me about the watch," he prompted. 

"OK, this is going to sound screwy, but when you passed out... I think you slipped into a coma... the watch was running backwards... not normal time either... days were spinning by in seconds." 

"I remember," the precept interrupted Nick's explanation, "when we stopped to rest by the trees... it was running backwards then, but normally... like the workings had somehow been reversed, but were keeping regular time." 

"Right," Nick continued, "but while all that was happening this whole place... well, everything started to change. I saw my father and... I was with him, but I was a kid then crates and barrels appeared and disappeared, figures came and went. Damn it! The fabric of the building changed. Like videotape run in reverse scan!" 

Derek looked perplexed. "...and this has all stopped now?" 

"It stopped when you woke up," Nick said slowly, "but look at this." He handed over the pistol. My .38 has gone and this appeared in its place. My Swiss Army knife... it's now a double edged blade with a horn handle... an 'Arkansas Toothpick'. Look at the clothes." 

Derek examined the jacket that Nick had tucked round him. "It's wool, silk lining, completely handmade... no machine work... design mid-1800s... a frock coat. The buttons look like ivory." 

Nick snorted inelegantly. "Yours may be ivory... the ones on my shirt are wood. But no zippers... Derek... no synthetics. Look at the newspapers." 

He handed Derek a paper. "Look at this... _The California Star_, Yerba Buena, January 9, 1847.... then another November 30, 1849.... 13th last... 'California constitution ratified... statehood soon to follow'... and look at the ad," said Nick, pointing to a small box at the lower left of the broadsheet. "'Sausalito - Rayne & Sloan, Ships' Chandlers and General Merchants, announce the arrival of a shipment of new and sundry items, including the latest model firearms, highest quality mining tools, winter clothing in all sizes, fine tobaccos and liquors. Reasonable prices on commodities of all sorts. Evan Rayne, proprietor.' Derek... these papers aren't that aged." 

"I don't understand this either, Nick, but it doesn't feel right. This is not a good place to be at this moment. What's the weather like? Can we leave? Is it light enough?" 

Nick dragged open the door. It moved freely. "Damn!" he muttered... everything felt wrong. He wasn't psychic, but he knew that he and Derek did not belong here. 

Nick peered outside at a snow covered scene. "The mining camp's still here Derek!" Nick found himself starring at a mob of very angry looking men. "So are the miners!" 

**_Continued with A Killing Time: Part II_**


End file.
